Voices

May 22, 2012

By Anonymous, Stratford, IA

Image Credit: Joslyn R., Margate, FL

I’m fourteen years old. Why? I can’t control it any longer. It’s almost like wild vines taking over my body, it keeps getting stronger every day. My head is so confused. I’m not sure what to do at times. While I get weaker and turn to spaghetti days like these is what I remember perfectly. Walking through the hallways seems like I’m at a rap concert. It’s noisy, different things are being said from every direction I turn. Interpretations being taken in by every teen that hears the lyrics coming out of one another’s mouth are all different. Keeping my head down, staring at my ragged yellow watch is how I survive high school. My head is always down trying to dodge the gossip and not get involved. It’s almost as if I’m in a dodge ball game trying hide in the corner. When the doors fly open all eyes turn and are on Daymon, almost as if there is a halo around his head and wings attached to his back. I’m not quite sure why everyone drools over him. Okay, maybe I do. He is super attractive, brown hair, blue eyes, and perfect white teeth. I’m not sure if someone could get any better. He’s an all-star junior football player, and wrestler, he definitely catches someone’s, well, more like everyone’s eye. The only thing I can find wrong with the kid is his deva girlfriend; Peyson. Peyson is a senior girl itching to get out of school. When she demands, guys drop everything they’re doing, acting like she’s the queen of England or something. Of course no one will tell her no, which is the worst mistake of their lives. Long golden locks she flips as if she were walking down the red carpet. Blue cotton candy eyes that glisten in the light. She has a small petite body, and of course is the captain of the cheer squad. Sometimes I can’t stand how peppy those girls are. When people describe Peyson in one word it’s always “perfect”. Fine, that’s only the ones that don’t have a brain. The ones that have any knowledge about her at all can, and will quickly express the hatred they have for her. She tends to put many people through misery. “Ashlyn did you eat another donut this morning, or was it five? Are you sure you want to eat that apple, I can lend you a candy bar.” This is what I hear every single day I go to school coming out of her flappy jaw. I weigh 145 pounds and I’m a freshman in high school. Just because I’m not a twig like her doesn’t mean I’m over weight. I mean; I’m not lazy or uninvolved. I play basketball in all of my spare time. Sometimes I wonder if she has a problem of her own she can’t deal with so instead of taking care of it she insists on putting others in distress.

*

*

*

*

That was me a month or so ago. I feel trapped in a steel box. Peyson’s voice and nasty sayings continuously replay like a broken record in my head. I let her get to me. She’s like nails on a chalk board. The thought of food now makes me cringe and want to throw up. It’s all because of her. I tell my parents I’ve been working my heart out with basketball, and watching what I eat. In reality I feed every meal I get to my year old, best friend, chocolate lab, Duke. I’m weak, losing pounds just as fast as Duke scrounges up my food. What do I do? Should I talk to someone? I should, but I’d rather not. This feeling is good, I love it. I’m tiny, and have a smaller waist. Now the comments should stop at school. Peyson and now Daymon have made fun of me for my weight; now that I’ve fixed that problem things should be better.

The comments are worse now that I’ve lost weight. I’m walking down the hall with my paper and pencil. I don’t carry my bag because it weighs me down. I don’t feel good. The room is spinning. Voices are going crazy. Can someone please…? *

*

*

*

*

*

*

My daughter went through some struggles with bullying in school. The result of people picking on her now leaves me with tears trickling down my check exploding on the paper. The disease took her life leaving her friends and family torn apart.

Subscribe

Get Teen Ink’s 48-page monthly print edition. Written by teens since 1989.